A Gift for Natalie
by Fenton Hardy Fan
Summary: An Advent Calendar of sorts, this story by Fenton Hardy Fan and Namialus is a present for ShogunNatarii. If all goes well it will be updated every day leading up to Christmas, with the story taking place in real time. Don't be put off by the first chapter, consider taking a look at Chapter 2 before closing the story in derision.
1. December 1st

The Nexus Route Blog and Fan Community  
FORUM–Private Members Only–Life VII

Master Kenobi-Wan: We went to this Mexican restaurant for dinner, the nachos were really good

Darth_Namialus: . :evil:

Mindless-droid: NACHOS! UNLIMITED NACHOS!

Master Kenobi-Wan: Nam FINE. The nachs were really good.

Darth_Namialus: 2Obi *nachos FAIL!

Master Kenobi-Wan: *puts on shades*

RogerRoger: I hate rainy days.

Darth_Namialus: *Obi trips and falls down stairs*

Natalie_Crescent: GAES, I AM GOING TO ENGLAND

Darth_Namialus: mbvriopmvsvmtsdporitjvsmtomsritms When?

Maverick-Valen: That's great Natalie! When are you coming?

Natalie_Crescent: TOMORROW

Darth_Namialus:KTIVVNRUTYNFSNVFUKGHSDIUFHVMAEVHNISURTVLMRLTVKUEHRLIVUNHEIRLVMAERLIVMERAHNELIUSMELIUAEMIUAEHRVNMLAERIUVHNAERLIVU Take me with you.

Natalie_Crescent: No.

Darth_Namialus: Yes.

Natalie_Crescent: NO.

Darth_Namialus: YES

Master Kenobi-Wan: . :twisted:

Darth_Namialus: 2Obi GAH.  
2Nat GAH!

Siblings: Where are you going? What sites and attractions will you see?

Natalie_Crescent: I don't really know yet, my parents have to make an emergency trip to Colorado with my brother. And they don't want me to stay by myself, and they don't know how long they'll be gone. So I'm being flown over to stay with a VERY distant relative.

Siblings: Sister: Sounds like something out of a book.

Natalie_Crescent: I have to go pack.

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From the Blog of John H. Watson  
December 1st: A Big Problem

I have a problem. A really big problem. In fact, I'll go so far as to say I have a problem of gigantic proportions.

A relative is coming to visit. And not just any relative mind you, a 15 year old girl!

She's home educated, so I don't have to worry about putting her into a local school. Of course, this means she'll have to stay in a flat with Sherlock Holmes all day. Why can't her parents take her to Colorado with them? Why can't they tell me how long this trip of theirs will last? How come this is all being arranged at the last minute? What on earth am I supposed to do when she arrives tomorrow?!

Sherlock's out doing who-knows-what, but I'll have to tell him when he gets back.

Maybe she can stay with Mrs. H the whole time…

Comments

Mrs. Hudson: I'm afraid not. What's she like?

John Watson: I don't know really. She's Latino and lives in Florida.

Mrs. Hudson: I hope she brings enough warm clothing.

Harry Watson: What's her name? Is she going to sleep on the sofa? Wait, if she's related to you then she's also related to me! How distant is this relative of ours?


	2. December 2nd

Natalie stood in front of a small flight of steps. They led up to a door with the label "221B" written above it. The building was in an older part of the town, and was rather old-fashioned, but still there was a modern feel to it all. 221B Baker Street. That would be Natalie's new address until her parents would return. A frown covered her face. She missed them, and was not used to being away from them. She was stuck in London, on a whole other continent, for reasons even Natalie herself did not know. It wasn't like them, and that worried her. Raising her arm to knock, she stopped herself to think. John Watson. Her parents had sent her to stay with him for the period, however Natalie didn't even know who he was other than that he was part of their very extended family. Why him? There were many other relatives living in Natalie's home state of Florida. Why would her parents send her to London, to this unknown man? Determined to find answer, her arm knocked on the door three times.

"Coming!" shouted a man, as the sounds of his footsteps down a staircase rattled the halls. He had a British accent, something Natalie was not used to. The large wooden door burst open as the sight of a smiling middle-aged man greeted her. He was not tall, but still Natalie was forced to look up at him. He had a small face, dark blonde hair combed to the side, and a large smile on his face. "Hello there, uh, Natalie!" he said, extending his hand to shake hers.

Holding out her hand they shook, as Natalie smiled and sheepishly said, "Hey, um, Mr. Watson."

"It's doctor Watson," the man grinned, motioning for Natalie to enter the building. There was a staircase to Natalie's left and another hallway to her right. She figured that she would live upstairs with Dr. John, considering she had heard him walk down the stairs earlier. "So we live upstairs, and Mrs. Hudson lives down-" he stopped to point at the hall, "-there. Let's go up. And let me take your bags!" After handing over her luggage, the young Natalie followed John up the stairs and into another room. "This is where we live," he unlocked the door into a suite. As Natalie entered, she turned to face her surroundings. There was a couch in front of the doorway, with a desk by the window, and by the opposite wall there was a fireplace with multiple odd items on top of it.

"Is that an – uh – skull?" Natalie asked, rather worried at the décor of the suite. For all she knew John Watson could've been a madman that she was stuck with.

"It's my friend's," sighed John, placing a blanket over it in a shy attempt to make the house a little more 'kid-friendly.' "Have a seat," he asked Natalie. The young girl unbuttoned her jacket and sat down, continuingly eyeing her odd surroundings. "Would you like a drink?"

"Just water, please," Natalie nodded as John walked into the kitchen. Emerging quickly after, John handed her a glass of water and sat down by the desk.

In an attempt to create conversation, John asked, "How old are you, Natalie?"

Lowering her glass, Natalie said, "I'm 15."

As John opened his mouth to ask another question, the door below was opened and then suddenly closed in mere seconds. Natalie turned her head, hearing sudden steps on the staircase. Seconds later, a tall man wearing a long coat came into view. He had curly black hair and a long face, and walked past a seated Natalie without making any acknowledgement. "John, Mrs. Hudson says she's making dinner today." He had a strong voice.

"Oh, well, isn't that nice," John said, trying to make the newcomer notice Natalie seated on the couch.

As the tall man faced the fireplace with his back towards Natalie, he suddenly stopped and said, "John."

"Uh, yes, Sherlock?" asked John. Natalie concluded that the man's name was Sherlock, then.

"Why is there a girl on the couch?" Sherlock wondered.

"This is Natalie," said John, embarrassed by the fact that he hadn't told Sherlock of her visit earlier. Sherlock slowly turned his face and eyed the young girl.

Quickly standing, Natalie held out her hand to alleviate John's embarrassment, and introduced herself, "Natalie Grace."

Sherlock continued to stare at her, and swiftly began to talk. "You've just arrived from the airport. Your transatlantic flight was delayed, providing you with a lengthy holdover in Atlanta. You live in Florida with your parents, who have opted to teach you at home, at least in part because of their religion. Your brother likes superhero movies, but not as much as you, and you spilled your drink on the flight here before trying unsuccessfully to fall asleep, probably because you were thinking about this unexpected trip to England."

"How?" Natalie stared back at him with wide eyes.

"He does that," John spoke up, "likes showing off."

"It was nothing impressive, anyone could see it if they had a modicum of intelligence." Sherlock stepped forward and pointed to her suitcase where it had fallen open. "Textbooks that are clearly not from the American public school system, therefore they must belong to either a private or home school. However, there are no stickers or stamps marking the books as belong to any sort of school, so she's homeschooled. Also travels with a Bible, so she's religious, or at least her parents are, providing a probable reason for home education. Captain America t-shirt, clearly a boy's shirt, probably her brother's, potentially her boyfriend's, but her parents care enough about their god to school her at home, so they probably think she's too young to date. So, home educated, a brother who likes Captain America, but not so much that he prevents her from leaving the country with his t-shirt."

"I can see where I spilled juice on my shirt, but how did you know the rest of that stuff?" asked a very shocked Natalie.

"Your hair tells me you tossed around on the plane while leaning back, quite a bit in fact. You could have been looking out the window, or talking to the person beside you, but that would only flatten the hair on one side of your head. No, you were trying to sleep, but you were too nervous to do so, instead you continued to shift around in your seat, striving to get comfortable. I can see a piece of what looks like a postcard sticking out of your jean pocket that says 'Atla,' obviously short for 'Atlanta.'

"But how did you know that she wasn't from Atlanta?" asked John.

"Look at her hoodie, John. It says 'Miami Dolphins' across the front. 'How do you know it's not a souvenir?'" Sherlock raised his voice mockingly as he asked the question to himself. "the Miami Dolphins are clearly an American football team, it's highly unlikely that she would have a friend with a hoodie for an out of state team.

"How on earth did you know that my friend lent it to me?"

"It's clearly not yours, the sleeves are far too long. It could have belonged to a sister, but if you had a sister with a jacket, then you would have a jacket too. So someone lent it to you for this unexpected trip to a colder climate. Finally, I can see your phone sticking out of your hoodie's right pocket. The battery is almost completely drained. You can't use your phone on the plane, and you would have spent your time before leaving home packing, so you must have spent a long time using it at the Atlanta airport as you waited for your plane to come in; thus you had an extended layover. Have I forgotten anything?"

Natalie's mouth gaped open, at a loss of words.

"Hello, my dear," said another voice, much softer than Sherlock's. Natalie turned, realizing she had failed to notice the entry of the woman standing in the doorway, during Sherlock's deductions. "I'm Mrs. Hudson," smiled the woman. She was thin and old, but still maintained a good sense of fashion. Or at least attempted to.

"Hi, ma'am, I'm Natalie," shyly greeted Nat, attempting to cover up the fact that she had totally ignored her earlier.

"Natalie; what a sweet name," said Mrs. Hudson, turning to John. "I've ordered some Chinese."

As John attempted to speak, Sherlock suddenly interrupted him. "I thought you said you would be making food instead."

"Well, I was running out of time, you see, I had a program to watch on the telly," Mrs. Hudson attempted to inform Sherlock, but the man ignored her. "I am not your caretaker!" she shouted as the doorbell rang. "Oh, that must be the food, I'll get it. You dears better prepare the table." Smiling sweetly, Mrs. Hudson walked down the stairs.

Natalie and John took out the plates and glasses. Sherlock, however, decided to have a seat and wait. Natalie eyed the man with suspicion. "I'll go get the drinks," she smiled, as walked to the fridge, which was behind the wooden table in the kitchen. Grasping the handle, Natalie pulled the fridge door open and suddenly let out a shriek. Both John and Sherlock turned, with the doctor pulling her away into his arms while the young girl continued to scream. "Is – that – a – head?!"

John began to apologize to his relative while Sherlock closed the fridge. "A human head, yes. Good eyes," he mocked, in his normal cold and calculating voice.

"Sherlock!" John scolded the man with one arm wrapped around a petrified Natalie. "Now, you, dear, have a seat," John comforted her, pulling out a chair. "I'll get the drinks."

Moments later, the four of them sat around the table with the food in the centre. Sherlock took the food first.

"Sherlock! Shouldn't you be feeding your guest?" asked Mrs. Hudson, angry at the man's manners. Or perhaps she was angry at his lack of them.

"Mrs. Hudson," Sherlock turned to her, "are you saying I should starve myself for her?"

"Sherlock, just-" John rolled his eyes, grabbing the food clamp from the man and had begun to place noodles on Natalie's plate.

They began to eat, silently at first, but Mrs. Hudson took it upon herself to start the conversation. "So, Natalie, isn't it? How old are you?"

As Natalie opened her mouth, Sherlock interrupted, "She's 12, judging by her size."

Natalie was astonished at Sherlock's guess, and was rather insulted, but decided to use his one mistake against the man himself. "Aha!" Natalie roared, "I'm 15!"

Tilting his head, Sherlock stared at the smiling young girl confusedly. "Your size says otherwise." Despite being wrong, he was still determined.

"I might be short, but you just made a mistake in your guesses!" Natalie continued to laugh, and was joined by the other two. Sherlock bowed his head and ignored the laughter.

Mrs. Hudson asked, "Natalie, where are you from?"

Natalie looked at Sherlock, smiling, "aren't you gonna answer?" she mocked. John stifled a laugh while Sherlock stopped to stare at her. It was not easy for someone to understand Sherlock's facial expressions, so Natalie sat there wondering if he was surprised or angry. Continuing her laugh, Natalie said, "I'm from Florida, ma'am."

"Oh, well isn't that nice. I've never been there myself, but my husband was convicted of murder in Florida," Mrs. Hudson said casually.

It had been a long day for Natalie. In the early morning, she woke up in Florida, and after a long night she was in London, eating dinner with three strangers, one of whom was probably an extremely insane psycho. Luckily, Natalie absolutely adored Chinese food, and practically inhaled her plate. "You're obviously hungry." That was said by none other than Sherlock.

"Sherlock, let the girl eat!" John argued.

"I was just saying."

Natalie ignored the argument, focusing instead on the last sushi in the centre plate. Natalie loved sushi more than any other food and was determined to take the last one. Holding out her fork, she motioned to take it. However, Sherlock also wanted the sushi, and also motioned to take it. Seconds later the two were locked staring at one another, both their forks mere centimetres away from one piece of sushi.

"Sherlock, let her have it," John said. "She's a guest." Ignoring John's words, Sherlock continued to hold the fork in place.

"Actually, it's fine," Natalie said, pulling her fork back. "He can have it." Without a second thought, Sherlock lifted the sushi and began chewing.

"Sherlock!" This time both Mrs. Hudson and John were shouting.

"What? She said that I could have it."


	3. December 3rd

**Authors Note: John slept on the couch, because he is nice and didn't want his guest to sleep there.**

Natalie opened her eyes to stare at the unfamiliar ceiling of John's bedroom. Reaching out she grabbed her phone where it sat charging and fumbled off the alarm. While it was morning here in London, the night was still going strong in Florida, and her body knew it even if her mind felt too foggy to consciously remember the fact. She pulled some clothes out of her suitcase and changed before spending a minute or two on her hair. When she entered the kitchen, John was already there. Sherlock was nowhere to be seen, which was probably for the best considering last night.

"Tea?" he asked her, looking up from his laptop.

"Yes please," this was definitely one of those days that made a person crave caffeine.

Handing her a warm cup, the doctor asked, "Did you sleep well?"

Natalie nodded. After all, once she finally drifted off she had slept deeply, just not long enough. "Is that your blog?" she inquired, catching site of the website header.

Now he nodded, spinning the computer so that she could see the screen clearly, "Want to read it?"

"Sure!" the girl exclaimed, reading the entry's title out loud to prove she was interested, "'A Big Problem.' Oh." Blast it all, she didn't want to be a problem!

Clearly her emotions showed on her face because Dr. Watson finished his drink and made eye contact, "Natalie, you are not a problem. Sherlock is the problem. He's my friend, and he's brilliant, but he's not good at interacting with people, especially, uh, females. Not that he's very good with men either."

Grinning and taking in his earnest expression, she decided that maybe this unexpected and rather mysterious trip could only dampen her spirits if she let it. "So I noticed." The two laughed. "I guess he's at work now?"

"Sherlock? Oh, I wouldn't expect him to wake up for a few hours. He isn't much of a morning person unless he needs to be for a case. I on the other hand," he glanced at his watch, "need to be leaving in a few minutes." Reaching out, he half closed the laptop to be sure he had Natalie's full attention again, "Listen, I know how overpowering Sherlock can be, and I'm sorry that I have to leave you on your first full day here. There's food in the fridge, help yourself when you're hungry. If you need anything, Mrs. Hudson is downstairs. Just remember that Sherlock will probably insult you, but he promised not to kick you out if you don't break his things. Feel free to use my laptop while I'm gone and—I've got to go." Natalie watched as the doctor walked out of the room and turned back to look at her. "Maybe I should take the day off…" he hesitated.

"I'm fine," she assured him, though admittedly a few moments ago her confidence had been higher, before it was mentioned that Sherlock might throw her out if she broke something. "Go on." Natalie smiled and waved.

"Thanks, I'll see you later then," Dr. Watson left the apartment. Natalie stared at the green tile and listened to his receding footsteps. Well, there was always school to look forward to. With a sigh she rested her head on the table.

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The Nexus Route Blog and Fan Community

Forums: Private Members Only: Live VIII

Darth_Namialus: Has anyone heard from Natalie since yesterday?

Firebird: Considering what time her transatlantic flight finally left, I imagine she's still dealing with jetlag. She may also be busy. New country, new things to do.

Joupena: There's nothing like skyping with Soka to make my day better. :D

Three hours later

Natalie_Crescent: Oh my gosh you guys, this trip just get weirder and weirder! You wouldn't believe how weird my surrounding are. Just, woah.

Darth_Namialus: Gah! Tell us about them already!

Natalie_Crescent: OK, my relative is Dr. Watson and I think he's nice, but he rents his apartment with a friend named Mr. Holmes who is not. Like, he's creepy observant, but has horrible manners. For example, he could tell just by looking at me that I had a layover in Atlanta, but he didn't let me eat the last sushi at dinner. Apparently, he didn't know I was coming, so that isn't helping the situation. And he has all this STUFF in the apartment that is really weird too. For example, he keeps a human skull on the mantelpiece. A real one, that, (you're going to love this Siblings,) HAZ A NAME. That's right, he informed me this morning that its name is "Billy." It sits across from the man's mail, mail that is literally held down by the knife driven through it into the wood underneath. He keeps his headphones on some sort of animal head mounted on the wall. Speaking of the wall, one of the living room walls contains several BULLET HOLES. At first I didn't notice them because there is a bright yellow smiley face spray-painted over them. I think they were made with the handgun that I found sitting on the coffee table when I spread out my school books. And did I mention the kitchen? Almost every square inch is covered with beakers and test tubes, and a microscope. And THERE WAS A HUMAN HEAD IN THE FRIDGE!

Siblings: Well, it all sounds very, interesting.

Natalie_Crescent: Dr. Watson writes a blog. I read it after breakfast this morning. Apparently, he and Mr. Holmes solve mysteries together. Holmes is a "consulting detective" (whatever that is,) and he likes to have his only friend (maybe he has other friends, but with an attitude like his, I doubt it,) Dr. Watson come on his adventures with him. I wonder if he'll solve any cases while I'm here?

Darth_Namialus: Adventures?

Natalie_Crescent: Yeah, you should look up his blog! Sometimes it's sort of sketchy of the details though, I think maybe I'll ask him to tell me about their trip to Buckingham Palace some time.

Siblings: Can we expect the next chapter of The Nexus Route fanfic soon?

Natalie_Crescent: OH YES! Dr. Watson has been at work most of the day, so aside from my schoolwork I've got nothing to do. Cause I REALLY don't want to bother Mr. Holmes.

Mindless-droid: I hope your family's business in Colorado is concluded quickly.

Natalie_Crescent: Me too.

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Natalie sat on the couch using Dr. Watson's laptop to chat with her online friends. Several hours ago she had finished her schoolwork, and now she wasn't sure what to do. Mr. Holmes sat at the desk by the windows, using _his_ laptop. Aside from a short conversation when he had first come into the room hours ago, the aloof man had acted as if she didn't exist. Unexpectedly, he spoke. She had just opened a YouTube video, and her earbuds blocked his exact words, so she paused the video and asked, "I'm sorry, what did you say?"

"Can't you entertain yourself in some other way? You keep slowing down the wi-fi." He never even looked up from his screen.

"Um, sure," she replied, quickly typing goodbye on her Xat Chat before pressing enter and gently closing the laptop. What sense would there be in causing further friction with someone she had to live with? In bored desperation some minutes later, she scooped up what appeared to be a TV guide from the coffee table and began to read it. An entry caught her eye, "Can I use the TV?"

Sherlock spared her the briefest glance possible, "If it will keep you from fidgeting as much as you have the last quarter of an hour, yes."

"Great, thanks!" she grinned, trying to break through his cold exterior, but to no avail. Several minutes later she spun around one of the chairs to face the television, ready to watch a Doctor Who Series 3 rerun. It was the scene in "Blink" where Sally Sparrow agrees to wait in the hospital until the rain stops. Natalie watched. After a rather quiet day, it was pleasurable to sink into an episode of Doctor Who. Sadly, the fun was short lived as Sherlock proved to be incapable of refraining from dropping a great many disparaging comments.

"Larry is even more stupid than Anderson."

"Who's Anderson?" Natalie inquired.

"One of the idiots down at Scotland Yard," managing to sound superior was one of Sherlock's many talents, and he made full use of it now. Silence fell between them again, but not for long. "Wibbly wobbly timey wimey stuff is not an explanation. What kind of moron is this doctor? Oh, look, a living statue."

"No, it's only alive when you don't look at it." Natalie was getting annoyed, "Why aren't you using the wi-fi?"

"You're distracting me with this nonsense. Seriously, look at his hair."

"You could take your laptop to another room," she suggested.

"No, I want to use it in here."

"Don't be so petty, Mr. Holmes."

"I'm never, petty," he argued, starting to make Natalie nervous with his facial expression.

"Fine. Okay, you know what, just," she stumbled over her words, "do whatever you want, and I'll got thank Mrs. Hudson for dinner last night, because I don't think I did it properly yesterday."

"Good, have a nice time," he dismissed her.


	4. December 4th

**Authors's Note: Namialus wrote this chapter. In fact, he is writing all of the even numbered chapters, while Fenton Hardy Fan is writing all of the odd numbered chapters.**

Natalie sat on the chair in the living room on John's laptop. It was evening, and John would be home from work soon. Sherlock was in the kitchen working with his equipment, and the two did not say any words to each other. Perhaps it was better that way, thought Natalie, as she surfed through the Internet. The past few days she had spent in London were not as fun as she expected it would be, and she was excited for John to come home. Sherlock didn't do anything to make Natalie enjoy her time here, (she wasn't sure he knew what enjoyment meant,) but Mrs. Hudson was kind enough to let Natalie stay at her house for lunch. Natalie enjoyed Mrs. Hudson's company, and was rather amazed at how Mrs. Hudson was able to put up with Sherlock for so much time. She was a strong woman.

Natalie's train of thought was broken by the sound of John entering the apartment. "Ah, Natalie," he greeted her, still wearing his jacket, "what have you been doing?"

"Well, nothing much. I went to Mrs. Hudson's earlier today," Natalie smiled, scrolling through her websites.

By now, Sherlock had left the kitchen and had sat down on one on the chairs by the fireplace. "Hello John."

"Hello, Sherlock," John said, turning back to Natalie. "Want to go out for some ice cream?"

Natalie jumped at the offer. She loved ice cream, and desperately needed to leave the house. "Yes!" she exclaimed, grabbing her coat. John grinned and left through the door, expecting Natalie to follow. As Natalie put on the coat, she froze and looked at Sherlock. Curiously, she asked, "are you gonna come with us?"

Sherlock sat in silence. "Just ignore him," John said, from the top of the stairs. Natalie awaited a reply, but instead Sherlock lifted his right hand, (which had been hidden behind the arm of he chair,) and revealed a handgun in his hand. Natalie's eyes slowly widened when she realized what he held as Sherlock pulled the trigger. Bullets pierced the wall, not far from where Natalie stood. The young girl shrieked, lifting her hands to cover her ears, and rushed down the stairs towards John. She did not stop screaming as the doctor placed his arm around her. "He does that, sometimes," John attempted to comfort her as he hurriedly opened the door into the street. Natalie could hear a faint "Oh stop that!" from Mrs. Hudson while leaving the building.

The cold breeze hit Natalie. She inhaled the cold air, finally relaxing without Sherlock around. The two began walking towards an ice cream place John mentioned. Natalie was amazed at the life in London – it was far different from what she was used to in Florida. London was far more crowded, with people bumping through each other on the sidewalk. Natalie was used to the more quiet life in Florida, but she enjoyed the new experience, except – "John!" Natalie shut her eyes in disbelief. Sighing, John looked behind him and saw none other than Sherlock trotting towards them. "John. You left without me."

Natalie, annoyed, interrupted. "I asked you if you were coming," she began raising her voice, "but you pointed a gun at me!"

Sherlock continued to stare at John. Without looking down at Natalie, he said, "I pointed a gun at the wall. You were intentionally standing near the wall – not my fault."

"I was-!"

"Oh, look who it is," said Sherlock, staring at two newcomers who froze in front of them. Natalie turned her head at Sherlock's statement, seeing a pair of adults. One was a light-skinned male with a long nose, while the other had a darker skin tone and was a female. Her mouth dropped at the sight of Sherlock. Her hand, which was being held by the other man's, frantically moved away, intending to hide the fact that they were holding hands. "Hello, Donovan." Natalie concluded that the female was named Donovan, considering Sherlock was looking at her. Both attempted to search for a response but still merely stood there, still frozen in disbelief. "It's okay. I've known this for a while," Sherlock said, and Natalie was still amazed at how the man would never show any emotions.

"Oh, Sherlock, leave them alone, would you?" John said. "Uh, hello," he turned to the two.

"Hi John," muttered Donovan.

"Anderson," John nodded at the man.

"Hello," replied Anderson, and Natalie noted that he seemed bitter.

"Oh, shut up," Sherlock sighed, resuming his walk down the sidewalk. The man moved right through the couple without thought.

"Hey!" spat Anderson, both at Sherlock's insults and his careless actions. The detective ignored him, continuing his walk.

Apologizing, John grabbed Natalie's hand and quickly followed Sherlock, leaving Donovan and Anderson behind.

"Um, who were they?" asked Natalie, as Sherlock was still a distance away.

"They work at Scotland Yard, we know them through our work." Natalie accepted the answer, joining Sherlock.

"I'm hungry," said Sherlock, suddenly stopping.

"Maybe after the ice cream, when we go home, I can make some dinner," Natalie offered. "Mom taught me how to cook."

"No."

"No?" John asked.

"Yes, no. No individuals eat ice cream before dinner. No one eats dessert before dinner." Sherlock faintly rolled his eyes. "It must be painful inside those little heads of yours."

"Well, I'm taking Natalie out for some ice cream. You can eat dinner whenever you want," John argued.

"Actually," Natalie smiled in thought, "I'm hungry too. Let's go home and I'll make dinner."

A few hours later, Sherlock, John, and Mrs. Hudson were sitting around the wooden table waiting for Natalie to finish cooking in the kitchen. "How much longer?" Sherlock asked.

"Almost-" Natalie hurriedly finished the food, "done!" Smiling, she placed the large tray in the centre of the table. Natalie had decided to make lasagna, one of the first foods her mom had taught her.

"Ooooh, it looks marvelous!" Mrs. Hudson complimented Natalie, placing a piece on her plate. Natalie handed out to both Sherlock and John, and then sat down to eat as well.

Placing a bite in his mouth, John muttered, "Mmm, this is good."

Natalie grinned in thanks, then turned to Sherlock. "Aren't you gonna try?"

Sherlock chewed, and then stopped, and then chewed, and then stopped to think, and then slowly said, "too much sauce."


	5. December 5th

On Friday, Natalie's alarm went off at the same time that it did every morning. However, when she opened her eyes today, they failed to drag with the weight of lost sleep. Reaching out, she picked up her phone, shut off the alarm, read the few text messages to come in the night, and hummed quietly as she replied. The texts from her family were vague as always, but the uncertainty failed to destroy her buoyant mood. Yesterday evening, while she assembled and baked the lasagna, she had felt useful. Quietly singing now, Natalie pulled out her favorite outfit, "Zip-a-dee-doo-dah, zip-a-dee-ay, my, oh my what a wonderful day!" Best of all, Dr. Watson's part time job came to an end today, since Dr. Smith would be back from holiday tomorrow.

Arriving in the living room, Natalie found Dr. Watson hurriedly folding up the red blanket he slept with each night. Mr. Holmes, surprisingly, was already awake also, and appeared to be eating a muffin in the kitchen. Natalie inhaled deeply. On the kitchen table sat a plate with three apple muffins; she could smell them. When she picked one up Natalie found it still emanated a bit of warmth. A note propped against the plate read, "To my boys, (and girl now too.)" Sherlock started on his second muffin as Natalie opened the refrigerator. Carefully averting her eyes from anything resembling a human body part, she grabbed the egg carton. It contained four eggs. "Mr. Holmes, would you like some scrambled eggs?" she asked, grabbing the milk out of the fridge.

He finished his muffin before replying, "Yes."

"I'll see you two later," Dr. Watson called from the door, "and I'll be bringing home groceries."

"Bye," Natalie said brightly, cracking an egg into a bowl. She beat the eggs with a fork, adding a smidgen of milk. After pouring the mixture into a small skillet coated with a bit of melted butter, she searched through the fridge for anything she could add to the eggs. Behind her, Natalie heard Sherlock begin to mess about with his chemicals. Finding a handful of mozzarella cheese left over from yesterday she tossed it into the skillet. While she considered chopping up a small chunk of ham, it had been stored partly underneath a bloody bag of what looked suspiciously like a human hand, and she didn't feel like disturbing it.

A few minutes later the eggs were cooked. Feeling pleased with herself, Natalie dug through the drawers until she found a hotpad. Gracefully she turned and placed the slightly steaming skillet on the table, where the girl saw Sherlock crumbling the last muffin, her muffin, into a beaker of liquid.

"Hey, that was mine!" She grabbed a couple of plates from the cabinet and set them down on the table harder than she needed to. Irritatingly unbothered, Mr. Holmes took a plate. "Oh, you just…" to avoid losing her temper Natalie half-stomped out of the room, catching a glimpse of Sherlock serving himself some eggs as she left. Leaving the kitchen, she accidentally knocked over a tall stack of books on the living room floor. Once in the relatively calming environment of Dr. Watson's bedroom, she picked up her Bible and began to read it. Time passed. Her breathing steadied. Her head cleared. Thirty minutes later, she again entered the kitchen, ready to let go memories of her second muffin, ready to forgive Mr. Holmes for being helplessly inconsiderate, ready to microwave her scrambled eggs.

As she opened her mouth to speak, Natalie observed the empty skillet. "You ate all of it?" she asked in disbelief.

"No."

"Oh, sorry for accusing you of that then. Where did you put my half of the eggs?" Perhaps he had placed them in the fridge for her to eat later, she thought to herself.

"When you left and failed to return a few minutes later, I assumed that you didn't want them anymore, so I used them in my experiment." He gestured to a second beaker, filled with liquid and egg pieces.

"Well, I did." Natalie crossed her arms.

"So I see." Sherlock placed the dirty dishes in the sink, and Natalie tried to convince herself that this was his method of apologizing as he sat back down at the table and opened his laptop.

Several minutes later the girl was eating a bowl of Cracklin' Oat Bran cereal, when Mr. Holmes suddenly let out a triumphant yell. "Anderson, I _told_ you it was the cashier! Fortunately, Lestrade knows better than to listen to you rather than the world's only consulting detective."

Startled by the sudden noise, Natalie involuntarily jerked, her elbow knocking into the beaker containing a crumbled muffin. It slipped off the edge of the table, and though she reached out to catch it, the beaker smashed onto John's unoccupied chair, gushed its contents over his second favorite sweater that he had left draped over the chair-back, and fell in pieces onto the floor.

Immediately she jumped up, "Oh my gosh, I'm sorry. I am so, so sorry. Dr. Watson, your sweater—what do I do? How!—" she stepped closer to the mess, staring down at it while feeling as if the sky were falling, quietly whispering to herself, "Oh no. Oh no, oh no, oh no, oh no."

A sudden hand on her shoulder broke her despairing train of thought, and she looked up to see Sherlock gazing down at her. "It's all right," he spoke to her gently, "it's alright. Everything will be fine." This unexpected kindness was too much, if only he had yelled at her, she would have been fine. Now she was reminded of her family for some reason, and she missed them, and they weren't here, and she didn't know when she was going home, and part of her mind murmured that maybe she never would, and she felt so out of place here, and she had knocked down that stack of books earlier, and now she had ruined part of Mr. Holmes experiment, and probably Dr. Watson's sweater too, and… Natalie began to cry. "There, there, it was only an experiment on postmortem digestion," for a few seconds Sherlock held her in a position that was very nearly a side-hug. He raised his voice and let her go, "Mrs. Hudson, can you come here!" although phrased as a question, it clearly was a command. Seconds later Natalie could hear footsteps on the stairs as Sherlock spoke to her one last time, "Don't worry about it, I'll take care of it. Why don't you go bake cookies with Mrs. Hudson now. There's a good girl." Moments later, Natalie walked down the stairs with her landlady friend, who spoke in a constant stream of chatter that the girl supposed was to cheer her up and calm her down. However, it was Mr. Holmes quiet voice that still echoed in the forefront of her mind, and somehow it felt as if it always would.


	6. December 6th

Since Sherlock had ruined Natalie's time with John and ice cream two days ago, the doctor had promised to take her out without the crazy detective. Ordering chocolate cones, the two relatives who had once been strangers had gotten the chance to learn more about each other while roaming around the streets of London. Natalie liked John – he was kind and caring. The idea that a gentleman such as John could live with a psycho such as Sherlock baffled Natalie, but everyone had a good side. Even the detective. Maybe.

That had come as a shock to Natalie. The previous day, she had spilled a crumbled muffin mixed into a weak solution of hydrochloric acid on John's sweater, which, combined with Sherlock's constant annoyances, caused her to break down. Then Sherlock, of all people, came to help. He had called for Mrs. Hudson and even awkwardly hugged Natalie – it wasn't normal and Natalie didn't like it.

After a long day of touring through London, Natalie and John approached 221B Baker Street and entered through the dark door. Natalie could hear muffled sounds from Mrs. Hudson's room as the woman spoke on the phone. Hooking her coat, Natalie dashed up the stairs to her home. She was tired.

"Oh, I was hoping you'd be home later," were the first words Sherlock had used to greet Natalie. Natalie rolled her eyes at the insult and ignored the man, and lowered herself to take a seat on the couch. Before she made contact with it, Natalie stopped herself and retreated to the chair by the fireplace, just in case Sherlock decided to shoot the wall again. "Natalie."

Natalie was taking a book from John's shelf when she said, "Yes?"

"Go to the kitchen and make something nice. Like cookies." Natalie crossed her arms at the second insult.

John began to realize what Sherlock had been meaning. "You're having a client over, aren't you?"

Sherlock turned to John. "Yes, and we don't have any food to feed her."

"Maybe she likes brains," Natalie joked, and John grinned. Sherlock kept his monotonous expression. Natalie took it as a sign that he was insulted. "Oh, alright, I'll make cookies," she sighed, walking into the kitchen.  
Just then, the door downstairs was opened and hurriedly closed. Loud footsteps erupted from the staircase as if someone was running, and in the doorway of their apartment appeared a flustered-looking lady. She wore a fur coat and had long brown hair – her clothing showed that she obviously had some money. The lady wasn't young, but was not old either, and inhaled loudly as she leaned against the wall. "Oh, hello," she introduced herself, "I'm Lady Eva."

"Hello, Mrs. Blackwell," Sherlock greeted (Natalie noted that he did not smile, and her suspicions that he did not have any feelings were confirmed).

"Oh Sherlock, I need help!" suddenly cried Eva. Natalie moved forward to help the panicking Eva to a seat, and placed her hand on her shoulder to calm the frantic Lady down. Natalie was confused at the situation.

Sherlock turned to Natalie. "Natalie, go make cookies, please."

"No," Eva declared, "I'd like her right here." Eva smiled in thanks to the young woman.

"But-"

"I don't want any cookies," said Eva, strongly, and Sherlock was taken aback as to how the woman could be so firm against him. Natalie tried to hold back her laugh.

Sherlock disliked the woman already. "Tell me your problem."

"I'm being blackmailed!" cried Eva, who went from a firm woman to a pile of tears in a matter of seconds. "Someone says I'm cheating on my husband!"

Sherlock stopped to think. After what seemed like hours, he said, "Your case is boring. Leave." Sherlock was strong with his words against Eva.

"Now, Sherlock," John interrupted, "let Lady Eva go on."

"But her case is boring."

"Just let her go on!" John was frustrated at Sherlock's immaturity.

Lady Eva pulled out her phone and begged, "look here!" She pointed to the touch screen. There were pictures of her kissing a man as she swiped through the images. Sherlock eyed them patiently.

"That is you kissing a man," Sherlock said, dryly.

"Yes, but not my husband! I don't even know this man, I've never seen him in my life!" Eva whined.

"Then how are you kissing him?" Sherlock spoke in a know-it-all tone.

"I'm not kissing him!" Even Eva was frustrated with Sherlock by then. "I am being blackmailed!"

"I don't like blackmail cases."

"Just let her go on!" John urged.

"Fine. How so?" On one side of the room, there was a crying lady, and on another there was a calm detective questioning her without any sign of emotion.

"This man, his name is Milverton, he's blackmailing me! He says that if I don't give him 20,000 pounds, he'll release the images and ruin my marriage! He's edited them to make me look like I'm cheating, and then my husband will leave me!" Eva continued to cry, eventually pressing her head into Natalie's right shoulder.

"These images certainly do look real," Sherlock stated, clicking through her phone. "This man has talent."

"Get rid of him for me, please!"

"Fine. You can leave now, I'll figure out something soon." Sherlock motioned for Eva to the doorway and quickly grabbed his laptop.

"Thank you," cried Eva as she was led away by Natalie, "thank you!" The door below was shut as Sherlock stared at his laptop.

"Now what?" Natalie asked, sitting on a chair in front of Sherlock. John was seated on the table.

Sherlock ignored her and continued to type on his laptop. "Charles Augustus Milverton," he whispered.

"What?" John asked, interested in Sherlock's findings.

Sherlock let out a loud "Aha!" and began laughing as he turned the laptop towards Natalie and John. On the screen was a large banner stating Christmas Costume Ball – December 8. Host: Charles Augustus Milverton. Location: The Milverton Mansion.

"That's the blackmailer!" Natalie exclaimed.

"So that's where all his money comes from," John joked. "He blackmails for a living!"

Sherlock laughed, (which worried Natalie,) at John's joke. "We're going to need costumes. Costumes from the 1800s."


	7. December 7th

On Saturday Natalie allowed herself to sleep in, having stayed up late the previous night watching one of the David Tennant "Doctor Who" specials leading up to Series 5. After scarfing down some cereal with milk, she walked into the living room. Moments later the girl was looking over Dr. Watson's shoulder as he searched the internet for local costume rental shops. When she had written down the address of the three most promising stores, Natalie fully realized what it was that had been nagging at her mind, "Where's Mr. Holmes?"

"He left about an hour ago to find us some tickets for Sunday's party."

"I'm surprised he trusts you to pick out a costume for him," commented Natalie.

An annoyed expression flashed across John's face, "Sherlock forgot to tell me what size he wears." Briskly drawing his phone from its pocket, the man sent a text before slipping on his jacket. Before the two of them could even reach the stairs, John's phone beeped. Glancing at his screen, Dr. Watson looked exasperated. Curiously watching him, Natalie wondered what the problem could be. Almost as though he knew her thoughts—but probably because he saw Natalie's face—he read the text received seconds ago, "Why would I know my clothing size? SH"

Natalie rolled her eyes. How could a man be so intelligent and yet so stupid?

Although it felt decidedly weird, minutes later the two of them stood in Sherlock's bedroom. "You can check his shirts," Dr. Watson told her. Carefully, Natalie complied, somehow the task also felt a bit exciting, like they were breaking an unwritten rule.

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When they finally sat riding in a cab to the first costume rental shop, Natalie occasionally suppressed a tiny shiver of excitement. Not only was Sherlock Holmes going to solve a mystery while she stayed at 221B, he wanted her to come along! Admittedly, Natalie couldn't figure out _why _Mr. Holmes asked her to attend the party. It certainly was not because he enjoyed her company. On the other hand, Dr. Watson expressed concern over Natalie coming along, surprising the girl since usually he took her side. Apparently the good doctor thought tomorrow night's party could be dangerous, but she had boldly said that she could use a little danger in her life if he didn't mind, and that she wanted to go.

At the first costume shop—a place specializing in historical clothing—the nice attendant lady asked what period of clothing they were looking for. Natalie had asked on The Nexus Route the night before if anyone had any suggestions for her, and Sister had recommended the Regency Period because it looked the most comfortable. Not having any better ideas, she conveyed this suggestion to the attendant. It didn't take long for her to find a dress in the right size that she liked, it was modest, and a lovely pastel color. Just then her phone went off, declaring that she had a new text message. Fishing her phone out of her jeans pocket, Natalie blinked when she read it, "Have you found acceptable attire for tomorrow? SH"

"How did you even get my number? And yes, I just picked out my dress. NG" she replied, fumbling with her phone's dying touchscreen, and ending with her initials to match his message.

Mr. Holmes reply came quickly, "It was child's play to get your number; you shouldn't leave your phone unattended in the living room. Send a picture of your dress. SH"

John guessed what was happening, "Is Sherlock texting you?" he asked, hoping to confirm his suspicions.

Natalie nodded, "Yes, and he wants a picture of my dress."

"Here, hold it up," Dr. Watson snapped a picture of her holding out the gown and sent it to his friend.

Faster than Natalie would have thought possible came the response, "Find something else, late 1800s would be best. SH"

Normally she would have asked why he always had to have his way, and at least argued a bit before giving in, but Natalie was afraid that if she acted that way he would simply decide not to let her come after all, and disagreeing via text messages took several times longer than it did in real life, so she sent back a simple, "OK, late 1800s it is, see you later. NG"

After passing this on to the attendant, who seemed a bit frustrated that so much texting was happening instead of shopping, they moved over an aisle and began again. While it took longer this time, Natalie again found a dress she liked. This one fell to midcalf, colored bright blue with red trim and decorated with a trio of white flowers at the left shoulder; it even came with a matching hat. While she did not care much for a dress with a bustle, all of them from the time seemed to include one. Sighing she looked longingly at the far more practical outfits Dr. Watson was looking through. He had some trouble deciding on what colors he should get for Sherlock, but Natalie helped as much as she could, and soon they were ready to go to the counter and rent their costumes. Once John had swiped a credit card, (apparently it belonged to Mr. Holmes,) the attendant went into the backroom and came out with a sizeable bundle for Natalie—a package containing all of the undergarment needed to successfully pull of the outfit she had selected. " had better have had a good reason to choose this historical time period," she thought to herself, "I hope I can stand around for several hours in this stuff without getting tired."


	8. December 8th

"Natalie."

"Yes, Mr. Holmes?" uncomfortably asked Natalie, being stuck in a taxi between the two men in an oversized dress.

"When we enter Milverton's mansion, you must stop calling us by such formal names," ordered Sherlock. "We are now a family of three."

"What, two men and their daughter?" joked John. Natalie laughed, but Sherlock stayed silent.

"No," Sherlock replied. "You are my brother, John, and," he locked eyes with Natalie, "you can be his wife."

"His what?!" Natalie shouted.

"His wife," Sherlock said, "I was under the impression that you could hear. All of our invitations have the same last name, 'Williams.' Marrying 15 year-olds was common in the 1800s."

"No it wasn't, I think. Anyway, it's not the 1800s now, and I am not going to be his wife!" Natalie complained. "I'll be his daughter, alright?!"

Sherlock was grinning, and Natalie assumed that the idea of her being John's wife had been a joke. "Daughter it is then, right 'Dad?" she shoved into Dr. Watson with her shoulder before winking at Sherlock, "So, 'Uncle,' what do you think of my hat?"

"Please," Sherlock was decidedly in a good mood, "Just call us Sherlock and John, and kindly refrain from poking out my eye with your hat."

By then, the taxi had stopped in front of the large mansion. As the three exited the cab, Sherlock paid the driver. "Woah," Natalie said, shocked at its size.

"Don't act so unaccustomed to wealth once we're inside, you have to play a _rich _daughter," Sherlock explained. The gates were open, and the three walked in, taking in their surroundings. There were fountains, and gardens, and even other buildings on Milverton's property. Following the crowd that surrounded his large front door, the three entered the mansion, showed their invitations to a man near the door, and then were lead to the ballroom. It was a large, open room, with a great chandelier hanging and circular tables around the room with an open space in the middle set for dancing. There was a stage in front of the dance floor with what looked like, to Natalie, a few classical musical instruments. On the walls were tables with different food on them, mostly desserts. "It's 8:00," Sherlock whispered to the two as they chose a table. "We will make our move around," Sherlock stopped to think, "around 11:30. The guests will be drunk by then." Then he turned to John, and firmly said, "You'd better not drink."

"Welcome, welcome!" suddenly called a voice. The three looked at the stage and saw Milverton himself, the host of the party. He was a short man, with a black mustache and a small body. "It is my honor to have you all for this party, from the 1800s. Your costumes are marvelous. Shall we begin?" he smiled, as the crowd began to clap and the band began to play. A few partygoers in different costumes began dancing as others dashed for dessert. Natalie chose to follow them, needing to waste three hours. Sherlock stayed seated as John left the table.

A few moments later, Natalie returned to sit beside Sherlock with a slice of cake and ice cream. "Would you me to get you some?" Natalie offered.

Sherlock replied with a very stern, "No," to which Natalie rolled her eyes. Times like these are when Natalie begins to miss Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock?" Natalie asked, feeling the name roll off her tongue, never before had she addressed him by first name. When he did not reply, she decided to move further with her question. Knowing Sherlock, Natalie figured he would have learned more about her, and perhaps he knew why she was sent here. After the short pause, she began again, "Sherlock, do you know anything about my family?" Sherlock did not move. He was silent in thought, wondering how best to go in answering Natalie's question. "Sherlock?" she asked once more.

He had to reply, but did not know how. For once, he cared about not hurting Natalie. After more thought, Sherlock replied with a very solemn "No."

Natalie was disappointed. "No… what?"

"No," Sherlock said, looking away from her gaze and out across the ballroom, "I don't know anything about your family." Natalie frowned, and began eating her dessert. "Oh no."

"What?" Natalie asked, hoping Sherlock had found something.

"He's drunk."

Natalie widened her eyes, and slowly turned her head to the crowd hoping that Sherlock was merely kidding. And then she saw it – Dr. John Watson dancing crazily among the crowd, like a drunken man. He was a drunken man. "Uh-oh…" Natalie whispered.

Sherlock checked his watch. It was only nine o'clock, meaning they would have to put up with John for another two hours.

"I'll stop him," Natalie said, determinedly. "He's bringing in too much attention. And we can't have that." Natalie stood awkwardly thanks to her dress and marched over to the dance floor with Sherlock watching.

John was dancing among a group of females when Natalie tapped his shoulder. He turned, surprised, and smiled. "Ah, Natalie!" he cheered. "Let's dance!" The doctor pulled his niece/daughter/whatever into a form of dance she had never seen before, and she tried to pull herself away.

"John," she whispered, "our plan!" She hoped he would realize.

"What plan?" He blurted loudly.

Sherlock could hear the conversation from his table. When the plan was mentioned, he turned to find Milverton, just in case he might have heard. And to the detective's disappointment, Charles Augustus Milverton was standing on the stage with his eyes piercing into John and Natalie. Sherlock bowed his head to stay hidden, and began to imagine a plan. Sherlock had aimed to wait until the other guests were drunk, but John was drunk first. It was 9:15 P.M., and Sherlock decided to make his move at 10.

Natalie twirled around the dance floor as John pulled her. He knew how to dance, she thought, and wondered how. One minute they were doing the Waltz, and another, they were even swing dancing. John was crazy when drunk, and she turned to Sherlock hoping he would stop this nonsense. Time had passed by quickly for Natalie. Eyeing the table, Natalie was confused as to where Sherlock had vanished to. Suddenly, John tripped and fell backwards onto the wooden floor, and none other than Sherlock stood behind him. "Oh dear!" Sherlock shouted, hoping his acting would be convincing. Natalie watched him help John to his feet. "I'm so sorry all of you," Sherlock said, "but my brother has gotten rather drunk. We'll have to go home now."

"That's too bad," said a voice. Natalie turned and saw Milverton himself.

Sherlock smiled at the short man and thanked him for the great party and left the ballroom, motioning for Natalie to follow. Passing through the halls, Sherlock retreated to whispers. "We're going to have to return John home if we're to succeed in our plan."

"We don't have time!" Natalie said.

"It's only 10, we'll be back by 11:30," Sherlock stated.

"But I don't wanna go home," John moaned, as Sherlock led him into the gardens. "Oh, look at that mountai- I meant, uh, fountain," John laughed, half-dazed.

"Come along, John," Sherlock instructed, and pushed him into a cab. Natalie sat on the other side. "221B Baker Street," Sherlock told the driver, and three drove back home. "We'll be dropping him off and then coming back, Natalie."

Natalie was curious about staying out alone with Sherlock, but she figured that he would be serious when it came to a case. The taxi stopped in front of their home. "We'll be back down in 5 minutes," Sherlock told the driver, while he pulled John out. Natalie ran ahead, up the stairs, and opened the door to both the apartment and John's bedroom. Sherlock followed, with a half-asleep John, and led him to the couch.

"No," Natalie said, "he can sleep on his bed," referring to how John had given up his bedroom for Natalie. "He needs it more than I do," she smiled. Natalie entered the room, prepared his bed, and led John onto it. As his head hit the pillow, the doctor was asleep.

"Come on," Sherlock told her, and they exited the apartment. "Mrs. Hudson!" shouted Sherlock.

A tired woman in a nightsuit appeared in the hall. "Yes," she asked, "Sherlock?"

"John's drunk, make sure he's fine," Sherlock asked, and left alongside Natalie, re-entering the cab. "Back to the mansion," he ordered. After twenty minutes of Natalie asking Sherlock for instructions, the cab drove in front of the gate. "You can stop right now," Sherlock asked, holding out a bill.

"Yeah, why not?" the driver laughed. "It's a good place to bury a body."

Sherlock and Natalie turned to each other. "What?" Natalie silently mouthed. At that moment, the driver turned around and held a gun to Sherlock's face. Natalie gasped. The driver began to drive away from the mansion, one hand on the wheel and another pointed at Sherlock, ready to kill. Natalie realized Sherlock could not do anything and knew that it was up to her. Ripping off a piece of one of her petticoats, Natalie quickly used it to cover the driver's (who sat in front of her) eyes. Cursing, the driver swerved off the road and into the fence, and continued to drive across the garden. Sherlock punched the gun out of the driver's hand and it flew out of the window. The car then burst into the mansion, smashing furniture, and stopped there, with the driver unconscious. "Sherlock, the stairs!" She pointed to her right. They would lead to Milverton's room, where the evidence was probably hidden.

"Quickly!" Sherlock replied with intensity, "before they come!" The two burst out of the cab and dashed up the stairs. From below, they heard people surround the car. Luckily, none realized two people were upstairs.

Somehow Sherlock knew the exact route to Milverton's bedroom. Once inside the dim room, he spoke, "Natalie, take out the hard drive."


	9. December 9th

Natalie eased shut the bedroom door as Sherlock shut the window drapes. Snapping on the desk lamp before sitting down, the girl unpinned her hat from her head. Carefully she pulled a miniscule fold-up knife from its hiding place in the red lining and flipped it open with a flourish. Inside her innermost petticoat, just above the right knee, she had sewn an external hard drive. For a moment she struggled to reach it, (moving in a corset was difficult even if she had refrained from lacing it very tightly,) drawing a pile of fabric up into her lap; now she could see its pocket, but lacked a spare hand to cut it out, needing both to prevent her skirts from cascading back down. Nervously, Natalie dropped the knife. What would happen to the two of them if they were caught? Could they be arrested and convicted of breaking and entering? What about theft? Even as she scooped up the blade again, a second thought raced through her mind, sending the knife once again tumbling to the floor. What if a far less legal method of removing them from the case were implemented?

Whereas Natalie was noticeably fighting back fear, Sherlock stood in the middle of the room, hands clasped behind his back, looking for all the world calm, almost uninterested in the problem before him. Then, before her eyes he came almost frightfully alive, this was the man who had known so much about her from a glance when they first met. Only now did Natalie begin to realize how simple that exercise had been for him, safe in their apartment over a week ago. He began to talk, walking around and gesturing with his hands, explaining his thoughts in an almost manic stream of words; at that moment she was reminded of The Doctor. A thought on the easiest and quickest way to cut loose the hard drive danced through Natalie's head, but she shoved it down as Sherlock continued to talk. "Where would Milverton hide a laptop? Somewhere clever, others have probably looked for it before now. A man who keeps his books shelved alphabetically by author, his desk immaculate, his bed made. A man who invents crimes; a criminal with imagination. A man who has metal bars across his window because he knows his victims may attempt to search for his blackmailing material, who will look in every crack and cranny of this room." Sherlock turned away from the window and faced the opposite wall. A surface with a picture hanging to either side of the door, and a third picture mounted on the door itself. Decorative lamps hung in the corners, casting shadows across the sumptuous red wall with a beautifully varnished wooden door in its center. Comprehension covered the detective's face. "Most people would search everywhere in the _room_."

Needing to get to her hidden hard drive, Natalie hastily reached back and unzipped her dress, allowing it to slide to the floor. Several long strides carried Sherlock across the room to the door. Normally, the girl would have felt extremely weird about shedding garments like this, but she wore such a tremendous lot to this party that even after removing her dress and both of her underskirts she was quite modestly covered by her usual underwear, over which was a white jumpsuit thingy with frilly cuffs, atop of which was her corset and bustle frame. Not to mention that Sherlock could hardly have paid any less attention to her if he tried. Since Natalie was in a hurry, she dumped the clothing on the carpeted floor, spreading it out quickly showed her where the hard drive and its cord were hidden. Now it was the work of a moment to use the knife, cutting the threads along the top of the two homemade pockets.

At her right, Sherlock reached out with both hands, grabbing the picture of a poppy flower sturdily mounted on the door. Sliding to the left, the gilt frame clicked once, frame and picture came away in his gloved hands. Smoothly turning to face her, Sherlock finally noticed her method of retrieving the smuggled items, "My, aren't you the proper Victorian young lady."

Natalie quietly giggled, out of anxiety more than anything else, watching as her companion opened the frame-back to reveal a slim, dark purple laptop. Wonderingly, she handed over the USB cord. Immediately Sherlock hooked their hard drive into the laptop, and a few minutes later was copying everything onto it. While waiting, Natalie cut loose the little packet of a needle and thread, doing everything to be ready to leave as quickly as possible. Soon she began to pace the room nervously. After what felt like an eternity, Sherlock announced that he was finished with the hard drive. Pouncing on the laptop, the girl unhooked the device, pulling out the cord with more force than necessary. As she finished sewing shut the pockets and rehid the knife in her hat, Sherlock concurrently shut the laptop, explaining, "I've placed a twenty-five character password on Milverton's computer to prevent him from releasing or accessing any of his false information."

"That's quite a password, what is it?" inquired Natalie, stepping into her first petticoat.

The man smiled before replacing the laptop back in its hiding place on the door, "'SherlockHolmesHasBeenHere' seemed appropriate." He took stock of the situation, "Could you possibly dress yourself more quickly?"

"This stuff is harder to put on than to take off." Natalie finished arranging how her first underskirt draped over the wire bustle behind her, "Thanks," she took the second skirt he had just offered to her.

Just then the door opened and a man, who managed to appear thuggish despite his Napoleonic era hat, peered in at them. "What are you two doing here?" he asked. Natalie found herself surprised to hear him speak in an English accent, which in retrospect seemed pretty crazy since she currently resided in England, but was nevertheless true.

Seeing the man threateningly reach for his coat pocket, Natalie took the first course of action to appear in her brain. She looked down and started to fake cry, "It's all that stupid taxi cab's fault. When it smashed through the wall it startled my uncle so much that he spilled wine all over my dress. Of course, I was surprised too, and didn't notice until we were there looking at the car, but once I saw the state of my outfit I couldn't stand to be seen by anyone, so I blindly ran away from everyone. There were some stairs, so I went up them and down a hallway, and down some other hallway, and then through this open door, and found myself here, when I discovered that my uncle had followed me, and he helped me wash my dress off in the little sink in the adjacent restroom. And—"

Sherlock interrupted, "Don't cry. You cried a few days ago and I have a once per month limit." Turning to the man in the doorway he conversationally apologized, "I'm sorry to have bothered you, my niece can be rather overemotional, but it's her drunken father's fault she's so spoiled."

Figuring she'd better say something to back him up, Natalie sobbed, "Uncle Holmes talked my father out of buying me a pet llama," half-collapsing forward as she spoke.

Sherlock reached out and caught her, but she weakly stumbled towards the door a few more steps for good measure, her partner supporting her until he was close enough to the now confused hired muscle to suddenly reach out and grab the gun hidden just out of sight in the man's front pocket. "I'll take that," Sherlock drew the weapon and ushered the man into the room. Natalie finished dressing a few minutes later, just in time to watch as the detective finished gagging the now bound man. With a stroke of the dramatic, Sherlock took the knife he had found hidden in the thug's left stocking and used it to pin the man's large hat to the wall. Triumphantly, Natalie snatched up her own hat and pinned it to her hair at a cocky angle. The two left the room, closing the door behind them. Minutes later, they walked down the staircase and mingled with the folks animatedly talking around the crashed car before making their exit via the hole in the wall and slipping into the night.


	10. December 10th

Natalie awoke with a smile. The day before, Sherlock and Natalie had recovered the files from Charles Augustus Milverton, succeeding in finishing Eva's task for them. Natalie had never participated in such a risky experience- being only a 15 year-old student, not a detective like Mr. Holmes-which made the task much more enjoyable to her. They had returned home in the morning on the previous day, after a surprisingly strenuous journey back to the apartment, and Sherlock decided that they would hand in the documents to Scotland Yard and Lady Eva on Tuesday, rather than Monday, when they actually succeeded. It was morning of the 10th (Monday,) and Natalie had just jumped out of her bed.

"Tea?" asked Sherlock, who was seated on the table, using his laptop to look over the evidence. "John's out buying milk, he'll be back in a few minutes and then later we'll visit the Yard."

Natalie took the mug from Sherlock and sat in front of the man, still in her nightsuit. "And you're just allowed to visit the station?" she asked, sipping the tea. Natalie almost spit it out, but swallowed it reluctantly, in fear of insulting Sherlock. She was used to John making it sweeter with lots of sugar – Sherlock's tea was just bitter. Kind of like him.

"Why wouldn't I be allowed?" Sherlock asked. His eyes never strayed away from the screen.

"Well," Natalie searched for words, "it is a government facility, y'know," she said, awkwardly.

"So?" he asked again, confused.

Natalie sighed. "Nevermind."

At that moment, what was an already awkward situation had suddenly become more awkward. Sherlock's phone had notified him of a text message, but not with a normal sound. It was the sound of a woman sighing in pleasure to which Natalie almost spit out her tea all over Sherlock's laptop. She swallowed it, almost choking, but the detective continued to type without notice. "I, um," she worriedly said, "I think you have a text."

"The phone notified me already. I do not need a repeat," said Sherlock. Natalie crossed her eyebrows.

"Who was it? That sound?" she asked. Her mother had always told Natalie never to ask people about their private matters, but Natalie figured that, considering the man was Sherlock, it truly did not matter.

"That sound is from," Sherlock stopped, in what Natalie seemed was disgust, "the woman."

"Well, that surely sums it all up," Natalie sarcastically joked. "Who's she?"

"She's the woman." Sherlock refused to speak of her name.

"Well, there are a lot of wom-"

"Natalie, don't you have to make breakfast?" Sherlock interrupted her. Natalie, offended at the insult, stormed away from the table into the kitchen, taking her mug with her.

After a few moments of preparing the supplies to remake some scrambled eggs, Sherlock said, "you didn't ask for what I wanted."

"Oops," Natalie rolled her eyes.

"Ask me."

"No."

Sherlock rapidly stopped typing as his eyes darted towards Natalie. As the detective opened his mouth, John entered the room and stopped him. "Hello, guys," he smiled, seeing Natalie make breakfast. "Oh, I am hungry."

"John."

"Yes, Sherlock?" the doctor sighed.

"Natalie refused to make me breakfast."

"I'm pretty sure there's a reason for that," laughed John. "Did you offend her?"

"No-"

"-Yes," said Natalie.

"Fine," stopped Sherlock. "Does this mean I don't get breakfast?"

"Yes!" Natalie shouted, "yes it does!"

"Then no one gets breakfast," he began, in a very quick tone, "John, I called Eva. She'll be meeting us at Scotland Yard in 30 minutes." Sherlock grabbed his coat and trotted to the door.

"But I haven't even had breakfast!" shouted John.

"Oops," Sherlock said, running down the stairs. Natalie grabbed her coat and the two followed.

After a long and quiet cab ride, Sherlock, John, and Natalie were dropped off in front of the building. Natalie followed the two into the offices. There were many tables with different people each answering phone calls with one man standing and shouting orders. He was older than John and Sherlock, but shorter than the detective. He had silver hair and was cleanly-shaved. "Oh, there you are!" he said to the newcomers, without noticing Natalie.

"Hello Lestrade," said Sherlock, coolly. "Where is Eva?"

"She's just in my office with Donovan," Lestrade led them into his office and sat behind the desk, motioning for the two to sit down. Still no notice of Natalie. Donovan stood up as Sherlock barged in and rolled her eyes.

"Him again?" she rolled her eyes.

"Well, he's got another criminal," smiled Lestrade, grabbing the envelope of evidence from Sherlock.

"Did you get him?" Eva asked, excitedly. Sherlock recounted all the events of the previous days and Eva jumped with joy. "Thank you, thank you!" she laughed. "Move along now, officers, I'll be going." She grabbed her long coat and ran out of the office, with a bright smile.

"His name's Milverton? That rich man?" asked Lestrade, turning through the pages.

"Yes," Sherlock said.

"And who's she?" asked Donovan, pointing at Natalie. Natalie looked up at her in an offended way.

"This is Natalie, my niece. Well, she's really my second cousin once removed, or some other equally complicated relation, but I've started to think of her has simply my niece." smiled John. "She's come to live with us for the month, there's some family matters going on back in Florida."

Donovan eyed Natalie. Instead of introducing herself, she merely said, "I am so sorry." Donovan was not a fan of Sherlock.

"So what, she's going to be following you around from now on?" joked Lestrade.

"Yes," said Natalie. "If it wasn't for me you wouldn't have that evidence in your hand." She did not appreciate their remarks about her.

Lestrade bowed his head and ordered Donovan to pay Milverton a visit. As the Sergeant left, she smiled at Natalie and told the girl to call her if she needed any help, to which Sherlock disagreed. Lestrade moved a couple of papers on his desk as a newspaper ad appeared on the corner. Sherlock began to read it, and then smiled. "John."

"Yes?"

"Let's go."


	11. December 11th

Wednesday turned out rather oddly for Natalie. Had she been more experienced, she would have recognized the signs yesterday morning in Lestrade's office, something had grabbed Sherlock's interest. Instead, she continued on, oblivious to the adventure barreling towards her.

On Tuesday night she had slept on the couch again, agreeing with John to start switching off every few days. She'd had a really strange dream. For some reason she'd gone down to the street to buy something at the café, (probably because Sherlock had managed to rob her of a meal somehow,) and saw the TARDIS parked on the sidewalk. Except in her dream she hadn't recognized it as THE TARDIS, only a weird thing that maybe she should attach importance to. A boy leaned against it, looking impatient. Then the doors opened and a man in a bowtie and sports jacket leaned out, looking worried, "Omar, call for Rory as soon as you see the siblings. If they don't show up soon with a jar of maple syrup then Amy is definitely going to completely transform into a parakeet." Just then a female voice from inside screamed, "Doctor!" and the man closed the door. Natalie walked up to the Arabic looking teenager leaning against the blue box, "We might have some maple—" just then a young man and woman ran into her line of sight, each carrying a maple leaf shaped jar of what she assumed was maple syrup. Immediately the boy called Omar opened the TARDIS doors and yelled, "Rory!" Seconds later a guy Natalie recognized as the one called ran out to meet the brother and sister with a strange contraption decorated with flashing lights. Before she could understand what was happening, siblings, Omar, and Rory had all re-entered the TARDIS, which began to dematerialize before her eyes. "Hm, that was weird," Dream Natalie thought, turning back to Speedy's, where she saw a strange glowing crack appear in the front window. That was when she woke up. Maybe she shouldn't have watched so much Doctor Who before bedtime…

After the excitement, it was hard to settle down to her schoolwork, an unexpected side effect she had noticed on Monday and Tuesday as well. Finally however, it was finished, and she jumped online to tell her Nexus Route buddies about her awesome dream. It wasn't as exciting as the news from a few days ago, but they still seemed to like hearing about it. While reading through her Twitter stream, Natalie suddenly thought of what she considered to be a rather brilliant idea, what if she created a graphic novel about her time in England? Minutes later she had a piece of paper and a pencil on the coffee table before her, beginning to scribble out ideas for the execution of the thing.

An uncertain amount of time later, a shadow fell across her paper, where she was trying to figure out the best way to draw John. Glancing up, Natalie saw Sherlock standing over her. Scrutinizing his facial expression, she finally decided that he was excited about something. "Can I help you?" she asked, wondering vaguely if she sounded like a department store employee.

"I was wondering what you think of this?" Sherlock planted a newspaper across her page, pointing to an advertisement in the 'help wanted' section which he had circled.

Sighing, Natalie leaned forward, reading aloud, "Wanted, a girl to help with housework and childcare after school each day. Applicants should be of Latino decent, look no older than 15 and be prepared to make fashion concessions to suit my wife's tastes such as wearing a dress of a certain shade of blue—What is this?" the girl interrupted herself.

"An advertisement placed by a particularly dull former client. However, this promises to be of considerable interest."

"So," Natalie began to feel the direction this conversation was about to take, and she didn't care for it much, "What exactly are you telling me about this for?"

Sherlock answered as if it was the most obvious and normal thing in the world, "I want you to take the job."

"And how do I know that this is nothing more than a scheme to keep me out of your hair?" deep down Natalie suspected she would acquiesce to his request, but she wanted to give him a hard time first.

"You and I both know that lounging around a flat is boring, and I also know that you thoroughly enjoyed our adventure at Milverton's ball." Sherlock moved in for the kill, "I'm only offering you this opportunity because I believe from your performance there that you are up to the challenge."

Who was she kidding; Natalie had tasted adventure, and now found it surprisingly difficult to settle for anything less, "What does the job pay?" She could tell from the subtle change in Sherlock's face that he knew her question really voiced her acceptance.

"Thirty pounds a day."

"Is that a lot?" she inquired, instantly regretting it. Blast it all, she couldn't help but want to seem intelligent and knowledgeable around the detective.

"Yes," he replied.

"Well," she drew out the word, "I'll do it."

"Marvelous, you begin tomorrow if the Rucastles agree to hire you, and I'm sure they will," without another word Sherlock turned away, and Natalie returned to her drawing.


	12. December 12th

"Welcome!" greeted Mr. Rucastle, as the door to his large house opened. Natalie introduced herself in return, entering the house and waving back as John drove away regretfully. Natalie felt shy and rather afraid of entering a stranger's house, but Sherlock had pushed her to take the job. The requirements were odd, and a curious man like Sherlock was surely going to learn more.

Mr. Rucastle led Natalie to the sitting room. He was tall and thin, and had an air of richness to him. He was middle-aged but older than most of the men in Natalie's life. "So, it's Natalie, isn't it?" Natalie nodded. "Ah, an associate of the great Sherlock Holmes, I see." Rucastle paused with a thought. "He helped me out of a lawsuit once. You must be so happy to be living with him." Natalie laughed inside her head. "So, Natalie, let us begin." Natalie smiled and listened as the man went on about the requirements of the job. "You will be taking care of the house, and you will read to us…" Natalie listened. "…also, you will care for our youngest child…" Natalie felt bored. "…and you must cut your hair."

Eyes widening, Natalie jumped at the gesture. "Sorry, what?!"

"You will have to cut your hair." Rucastle appeared surprised. "Didn't you read the paper?"

Cursing silently, Natalie bowed her head and agreed. "I'll cut it someday, then," said Natalie, vowing in her head never to agree with Sherlock's plans again.

"Oh, also," he said, turning to look for an item. "She must have left it…" Mr. Rucastle stood up and began searching, eventually calling out, "dear!"

"Yes, honey?" said a voice from above the stairs. Natalie deduced that this was his wife.

"The dress!" Rucastle called. When the wife said she would bring it down, the man retook his seat. "How old are you, Natalie?" he asked, in an attempt to make conversation.

Natalie sheepishly replied with "15."

"Oh, perfect," he smiled. Natalie did not know how her age could be "perfect."

Steps sounded from the stairs and a small woman appeared with a large smile on her face. She had tied hair and wore glasses, high heels, and a short dress, and carried another in her arms. "Hello, dear! I am Mrs. Rucastle." Natalie introduced herself once more. "And this," the woman held out the dress in front of her, "will be your uniform." The dress was short, coloured electric blue and had a thick design.

"Go to the dressing room and put it on," asked Mr. Rucastle, leading Natalie to a door upstairs.  
Moments later, Natalie walked back down in her new uniforms. Delightedly, Mrs. Rucastle exclaimed, "oooh, lovely!"

"How shall we begin, dear?" asked Mr. Rucastle to his wife.

"Well, since it is Natalie's first day," she began, "let me show her around the house, and then she can go back home and prepare for actual work tomorrow." She never ceased to smile, leading Natalie around the house. "Here is the kitchen… and here is Mr. Rucastle's office… here is the living room…" Natalie was bored, but being polite, she continued to listen. "And here is our bedroom… you must never touch that!" Finally returning to the dining room, Mrs. Rucastle pulled a chair for Natalie. "This is a dinner we like to do every time we find a new worker."

Mr. Rucastle appeared with a steaming pot of stew. It was not a normal dinner, as Natalie thought, but it would do. Natalie ate alongside the other two as few attempts at conversation were made around the table. Most were about Sherlock, and Natalie discovered that she missed him.

After hours at their house, Natalie slowly left and walked towards John's car. She heard the Rucastles shout "goodbye!" and the young girl found it difficult not to immediately begin sprinting.


	13. December 13th

Natalie stood in an unused bedroom in the upstairs of the Rucastles' home. Once it had clearly been a girl's bedroom, now the family's eldest daughter was attending a boarding school in America of all places, Philadelphia, Mr. Rucastle had said the night before over dinner. Hot air blowing into the room from the floor vent gently blew one of the slightly dusty white valence curtains beside the window. Her electric blue dress stood out against the pale pink wallpaper. After respectfully closing the bedroom's door, she looked around the room again, absentmindedly fingering the simple black leggings John had bought for her this morning. She gripped her bottle of generic Windex and carefully cleaned the mirror before walking to the window. Once every speck of dirt had been purged from its panes, the girl stopped to gaze out at the leafless trees, past them to the high wall surrounding the house, beyond that to the grey sky. Slowly, she forced herself to turn away, to pick up her broom from where it sat propped in the corner, to sweep the floor. While everywhere else in the house cause Natalie to feel out of place, uncomfortable, even a tiny bit afraid, this room reeked of loneliness and longing somehow, yet did not bring unease to her heart. Instead she felt calm. Perhaps she felt empathy for a girl sent to another country; perhaps it was the gentle pastel colors, perhaps she simply felt relieved to have time to herself.

Bracing herself mentally, Natalie left the room, replacing her cleaning supplies in the hall closet. She suspected that she had become rather good at placing a brave, cheerful front on. As she walked down the wooden stairs with a band of red carpet running up the middle, she pondered the best way to take a peek into the Master Bedroom. If she didn't discover the true cause of such strange requirements for a glorified maid and babysitter in a few days' time, then she would have to explore the only part of the house forbidden to her.

A built in home stereo system piped gentle Christmas music into all of the downstairs rooms. "Was it really only 12 days till Christmas?" she thought to herself. Nothing in the Baker Street apartment suggested it. Natalie found the couple and their young son decorating the living room Christmas tree. The father picked up the boy so that he could place a golden star atop the evergreen, while the mother dug through a cardboard box of ornaments. Just as the seven-year-old's feet touched down, his mother frantically shoved the case as far from her as she could, opening her mouth in a gasping, silent scream.

"What is it?" cried Natalie, rushing to the woman's side. Mrs. Rucastle wordlessly pointed to the floor, where the girl saw several cockroaches scurrying away. Before Natalie could move or speak in response the boy had grabbed one of a pair of slippers beside the couch and used it to smash three of the little critters, bang, bang, bang! The fourth insect he trapped under the opening in the slipper. Snatching a pencil from a nearby table holding a phone and notepad, the boy expertly flipped the bug onto its back with the slipper before using the thin wooden rod to pin the creature down as if it were a display specimen. While the insect still thrashed its legs in the air, the boy began to pull it apart, piece by piece. Natalie considered cockroaches to be pests, but looking into the boy's eyes turned her stomach. This was no act of curiosity, nor was it a form of revenge on the bug for scaring his mother; Natalie read only perverse pleasure in those shining orbs.

Turning her eyes away, Natalie became aware that Mr. Rucastle chuckled where he stood beside the tree, apparently he could not read the malice in his son's actions, finding them instead only amusing. "Everything about these people seems, off somehow," she thought. "yet I'm no closer to figuring out what in the word is happening here." Politely Natalie offered to make everyone a cup of hot chocolate.

Mr. Rucastle smiled broadly at her, "Why that is a simply marvelous idea, Natalie, please don't forget to make some for yourself as well."

Dipping in a mock curtsy, Natalie left the room. "I do not trust your smile," ran through her head.

As she stirred the contents of a hot mug minutes later she sighed, "I want to go home." In that moment she wonderingly realized the images conjured in her mind were of both her birth family and their house, and her far stranger bachelor guardians and their apartment. "No," she set the mug down on the tile countertop with shaky hands, whispering, "It's called a flat."


	14. December 14th

**Author's note from Fenton Hardy Fan, (even though Namialus wrote this chapter:) I gave Nam nearly all day to explain why Natalie had never noticed the black door before and why the Rucastles would be so obvious about it, but he didn't get back to me on it. Therefore I am going ahead and posting the chapter for the 14th now. However, it may be slightly modified at some point. **

It was her third day at the Rucastle's, and Natalie found herself thinking about quitting. She could just go to Mr. Rucastle, give back her uniform, and return to Baker Street. Sherlock would be angry, but John would side with her. As Natalie slowly inched over to the stairs preparing to quit, she stopped to think about why Sherlock sent her to the mansion. There had been a case in his eyes, she thought, and with a case comes crime. Natalie loved her adventure in the last case, and sighed. With crime might come people who were being hurt. Natalie decided that she would not quit, in order to keep whoever the Rucastles were hurting safe.

"Since this is a case," she thought, "I figure I should spend my day in the mansion searching for any signs of crime."

In the hallway, she used her duster to wipe ledges and shelves in secret search for something, anything that would lead her. As her duster slid across the hall, Natalie found a door. It was a door that she had never noticed, a door that Mr. Rucastle never showed her. Nothing was written on it, it was just a large and wooden door. Curiously, it was coloured black. Natalie turned her head from side to side making sure she was alone in the hall, and led her hand to the knob. Silently, she turned it, and the door creaked open. She peeked through the crack and noticed that it was pitch black, but the opening lit the wall inside. Against the wall was a cabinet, Natalie peeked, and on the old cabinet was a knot of hair. Curious, Natalie slowly opened the door to enter, but was stopped by an unexpected and firm, "don't."

Natalie almost choked, turning around to see Mrs. Rucastle. She quickly closed the door behind her. "I was, just," she attempted to find an excuse, "I just wanted to – uh – clean in there," she said.

"I did not lead you here, so do not clean in there," Mrs. Rucastle said, firmly. Her eyebrows were crossed.

"Yes, ma'am," Natalie bowed her head.

"In fact," Mrs. Rucastle checked her watch, "it is getting close to dinnertime. You'd better be going home now."

Sighing, Natalie left the house after spending half an hour on the porch, waiting for John to pick her up in a cab. The cab pulled up and she almost sprinted towards it, grabbing open the door to have a seat beside John. "How was your day?" he smiled.

Natalie turned to him, serious. She recounted the past event to a curious John. "They're not good people," she finished with.

"It's unsafe to go there anymore," John said, "I'll tell Sherlock you'll be quitting-"

"No!" Natalie said. "I can't quit. They could be criminals," she whispered, "and people could be hurt by them."

"Natalie, I told your family that you would be kept safe here, and I'm not sending you there where you could get hurt just because Sherlock wants you to!"

"Uncle John," Natalie frowned, "I know it's unsafe, but I'm old enough to take care of myself. I can do it. I want to do it."

The cab pulled up in front of their home. Natalie dashed out to tell Sherlock the news, opening the door without waiting for John. She ran over the steps and entered their suite. As she opened her mouth to talk, she was caught silent by the new appearance of their home. There was a wreath on the door, and Christmas lights on the shelves, and a brilliant Christmas tree by the fireplace, where Sherlock sat. Natalie smiled and missed her home, where she spent Christmas with her parents. She didn't realize she'd be staying in London for Christmas. "This is wonderful," she smiled, with a tinge of sadness.

"We did it just for you," John smiled, coming in behind her. "Your parents called me this morning, you're staying here for Christmas," he solemnly stated.

Natalie frowned and sat in front of Sherlock. She was old enough to live without her parents now, she slowly smiled, and she was old enough to fight crime. With a smile on her face, Natalie said, "I think the Rucastles are criminals."


	15. December 15th

By Sunday Natalie was subconsciously putting off leaving for the Rucastle Mansion. Dreading the thought of having to get a haircut to suit those people's fancies, she had closely studied a picture of the desired style given to her by Mrs. Rucastle yesterday. "Perhaps there was a way around this dilemma," she mused all that evening, finally coming up with a solution before drifting off. Next morning she scarfed down her breakfast at light-speed and ran downstairs, knocking politely on Mrs. Hudson's door.

Natalie heard a muffled, "Come in," through the wooden door, so she opened it, peering around the frame with a cheery smile.

"Good morning, Mrs. Hudson! I hate to bother you, but I was wondering if you might be able to help me with my hair. I want to imitate a certain styled without cutting it." She waved the picture back and forth in a manner that highlighted the fact that she had one, but not in such a way that a person could actually look at it.

"Good morning to you too Natalie." The landlady took the picture, "There're frozen waffles in the freezer if you're hungry. Heaven only knows how Sherlock stays alive on the contents of your kitchen."

"It's John I wonder about," the girl replied, swinging open the freezer; a couple of waffles sounded delicious. "He actually attempts to eat multiple meals most days."

A few minutes later Natalie sat in front of a vanity mirror, munching on a pair of blueberry waffles. Outside it was raining, but Mrs. Hudson still used incandescent light bulbs in her bedroom, (though the woman definitely worried that one day she wouldn't have any more,) and overall it felt rather cozy. While it took longer than Natalie expected, the woman eventually figured out a way to arrange the girl's hair so that it was comparable to the photograph. Actually, Natalie thought her style prettier than what was shown in the picture, with some little braids worked into it that couldn't have been done with shorter hair, yet unless a person stood close to her they would never notice. Slouching for a moment in front of the mirror at the thought of leaving, Natalie suddenly stood and grinned, "Thank you, Mrs. Hudson, I've had a lovely time, and my hair looks great!" Unexpectedly, she gave the woman a quick hug.

"Any time, Natalie, I always enjoy our conversations."

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A few hours later, Natalie hummed to herself as she vacuumed the Rucastle's, oh what did they call it, their sitting room. Using the vacuum cleaner still felt rather new and interesting; carpet rarely entered her life in Florida. Watching herself in the mirror, she wondered if she looked like a girl from Original Star Trek as the Siblings and Mindless Droid had been conjecturing on The Nexus Route Life IX topic last night. Maybe she would try and post a picture of her wearing this work uniform on Twitter tonight.

When she glanced out the window a few minutes later, Natalie blinked upon seeing Mr. Rucastle forging his way along the tall stone wall surrounding the house, dragging behind him a midnight black muzzled dog who fought him every step of the way. Strategically pushing the noisy machine closer to the window, the girl saw that her employer disappeared into a storage shed almost outside her line of vision, forcing the mongrel to jump up after him. Shrugging her shoulders, Nat hoped the dog wouldn't be allowed into the house and resumed vacuuming. While winding the electric cord around its mounting pegs on the machine once she finished, a flicker of movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look outside again, where she saw Mr. Rucastle being pulled along by a muscular looking brown dog, this one was also muzzled. Again both man and dog disappeared into the shed. Now Natalie shivered once. She waited a minute for the dust to settle before running a cloth over a few shelves holding glass figurines, every few seconds sneaking a glance out the window. Finally, her curiosity paid off when she caught sight of the skinny man walking beside a large, svelte, and muzzled grey mutt. Before Natalie could ascertain for certain that these two also traveled to the brick and vine shed, Mrs. Rucastle entered the room, informing her that ten minutes from now Natalie would be expected in the second floor living room to read to the family.

When Mr. Rucastle entered the living room, Natalie noticed that he had changed clothes. He noticed Natalie's hair, and Mrs. Rucastle noticed where the girl sat.

"My dear, Natalie, your hair looks simply perfect. Perfect! Turning to his wife he asked, "Doesn't she look perfect?"

"Oh, yes," the woman adjusted her glasses, "Pretty as a picture. But darling, don't you think she would show the best sitting beside the window?"

Natalie wondered what was wrong with her sitting on the sofa, and by his posture, she decided Mr. Rucastle didn't understand his wife's comment any more than she did. However, after a second's pause, he seemed to figure it out, saying, "Of course, how forgetful of me," the man laughed, "Natalie, would you please take the chair by the window? The best light for reading is there."

"Sure," she replied with false chipperness, jumping up and moving to the assigned seat. What followed was the most curious reading session Natalie had ever had. After her employer handed her a slim red hardcover, she began to read aloud. The boy assembled a LEGO Star Destroyer on the table in the corner while she spoke over the gentle clinking of the pieces. Unexpectedly, Mr. Rucastle announced that she had read enough of that book right in the middle of the second chapter, instead handing her a blue paperback. Taking the volume held out to her, Natalie tossed her head, sneaking a glance outside at the yard and sky—a bird flew out of one of the leafless trees, beside the road outside the wall a young man loitered. Once again, partway through a chapter she was asked to stop, handed a different text, and told to begin again. Suppressing the urge to roll her eyes, Natalie again peeked out the window—no birds, but the young man still stood there, looking up at her. As she turned back to the third book, Natalie thought that he really had been looking at _her_, which seemed rather creepy. This third story was hilarious, and she sometimes struggled to continue reading because she laughed so hard. Carelessly she allowed the book to slip out of her hands and fall to the floor—at least she hoped it looked like an accident, in reality she wanted to check if the guy outside still watched her. Sliding out of her chair and down to the floor, Natalie swiveled as she grabbed the green book, intentionally turning to face the window.

Yes, the young man was there. He gazed steadily up at her. From this distance, Natalie suspected that he was Latino and probably in his early twenties, but couldn't be certain. One thing she noted; he definitely had cuteness potential. Before she could turn away, Natalie observed him raise a pair of binoculars to his eyes. Apparently noticing what the girl was doing, Mrs. Rucastle announced, "I believe a young ruffian is bothering Natalie."

"That's outrageous!" exclaimed Mr. Rucastle, jumping up from the couch, "Natalie, you shouldn't have to tolerate such impudence. Gesture for him to leave at once."

Agreeing for once with the Rucastles, Natalie made what she was pretty sure was eye contact with the man—it was hard to tell for sure, but at least he wasn't using the binoculars at the moment—and waved him off, then scowled, mouthed 'go away' in an exaggerated way, and continued to motion vigorously for him to leave. Finally, he seemed to get the picture, and the young man shuffled out of sight. The Rucastles seemed exceptionally pleased with this development, informing Natalie that she could stop reading. That evening they finally paid her too, ninety pounds!

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That evening when she arrived back at 221B, Natalie was slightly surprised to find that Sherlock was out. However, she was more surprised when John refused to tell her where he had gone. After such a strange day, she wanted to spend some time expounding to someone about it, so she blurted everything out to John. Sherlock still hadn't returned home when she went to bed, and since he never got up before she left for the Rucastles' house, she wouldn't be about to talk to him until tomorrow evening. Which was a shame because she wanted him to explain to her what was probably happening, to clear away all her confusion with a paragraph of rapidly delivered explanation. Oh well, tomorrow evening would come soon enough.


	16. December 16th

John tiredly entered the flat after dropping Natalie off at the mansion. It was early morning on a Monday, and he had work to get to, but desperately craved a cup of tea. Walking into the kitchen, he searched for a mug amongst piles of Sherlock's equipment until he found a small red one, filling it with a warm tea that Natalie had prepared for them. He had taken a liking to her, and believed Sherlock had, too.

"John." Sherlock said, seated by the fireplace. "Where is Natalie?

John turned, confused. "I took her to the Rucastles, where else would she be?"

"You what?" A subtle panic rose in Sherlock's voice.

"I took her to work…" John said, startled. "The job you got for her. Are you okay?"

"After she believed the Rucastles are criminals?!" Sherlock stood. "She left a note on my door telling me to ask you about what she told you last night. Explain."

For a few seconds, John leaned against the dinner table in thought. He seemed confused about what Sherlock was talking about, and then it hit him. Pressing his hand against his eyes, John sighed heavily and placed his head on a ledge. "No…. no…. no…."

"John!"

"I don't know what you can make of this!" said a panicked John, "But last night, she explained that there was a man watching her from outside as she read to the Rucastles-"

"A man and a black door kept secret…" Sherlock quietly thought. "And you let her go?"

Frustrated, John exclaimed, "I was tired! I was up late last night and woke up tired, sometimes humans get tired, you wouldn't know!"  
"It must be so difficult to be normal," Sherlock insulted John. "We have to go and save her!"

"But I have wor-!"

"She's your niece!" Sherlock dashed to the door, grabbing his coat. John, throwing away his cup of tea, cursed and followed.

Meanwhile, at the Rucastle Mansion, Natalie was once again in the same hallway of the black door she had seen two days prior. Unlike last time, she was now determined to search it, knowing that the Rucastles were hiding something. And it surely wasn't pleasant, considering how Mrs. Rucastle had forced her out immediately after. Reaching the door, Natalie examined the knob and found that it was locked. Cursing, Natalie searched the hall for a key and also searched for a sign of any incoming Rucastles. She was safe. While she stood by the door, she unpinned a hairpin from her hair and forced it into the keyhole. Shaking it to fit, Natalie struggled to twist the knob. She had never had any previous experience to do such a thing, and was only going by what she had seen on TV. "They had to have some fact to them," she thought.

After minutes of struggle to the point where Natalie was close to quitting, the door lurched forward and Natalie fell into the dark room. She quickly stood up, afraid that her noise would signal the family. Natalie trotted into the room and searched, but it was pitch black. There was a horrible smell, too, that Natalie compared to something rotten. She walked around the small room with outstretched arms in search of a light switch, but stopped and fell over a mound of soft items that almost felt human. Natalie moved her arms through the pile to make sense of where she was and her hand caught another hand. Natalie felt it, realizing that it was cold, and her eyes widened. She shrieked and ran backwards, bumping into the opposite wall. As her arms brushed the wall she caught a light switch and quickly flicked it open.

"Oh… my…" Natalie choked at the sight. Pressing her hand against her mouth to stop herself from screaming, tears filled Natalie's eyes as she looked upon the pile of things she had fallen into. They were body parts, from hands to legs and even a few heads. All of them were female, and Natalie crumpled to the ground in shock. "No…" she choked, quietly weeping.

Beside Natalie, something imitated her sobs. They were muffled, as if the sounds were choking. Natalie turned to find who was in there with her and, to her left, was another girl. Her face resembled Natalie's, and Natalie's mouth widened. The girl sat on her knees, on the floor, with her arms chained above her head, against the wall. Luckily, she was alive, and the cause of the muffled sounds was a rag against her mouth. The girl was crying, too, and to Natalie, she also seemed shocked at the sight of the bodies.

"I'm here to help," Natalie attempted to comfort the imprisoned girl, crawling towards her and untying the rag from her mouth.

Gasping, the girl heavily breathed in relief. Natalie stood to examine the girl's chains against her wrists, and realized that they needed a key. Natalie lowered herself to speak to the girl, but the girl spoke first. "Behind you," she solemnly wept.

Natalie's eyes widened. On the wall, there was a silhouette of man. He was thin, much like Mr. Rucastle, and had a raised arm. In it was something pointy, like a knife. Natalie gulped, seeing the shadow, and slowly turned her head.

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"You could've had her killed!" shouted Sherlock, at John, as the two marched out of the cab and onto the Rucastle property.

"Well, we're here now, aren't we?" John argued, running to the door. He knocked thrice and waited for a reply.

"There's no one there." Sherlock grew impatient, grabbed the doorknob and turned. Surprisingly, it opened, and the two looked at each other.

"What if it's a trap?" asked John, suspicious.

"It is undoubtedly a trap," Sherlock said, entering the house. There was little lighting, and Sherlock whispered to John to be careful. There were heavy sounds coming from above the stairs, as if some sort of struggle was going on. "Up there!"

The two dashed up the stairs and into the hallway, frantically looking around. Still no sign of anyone. They ran down the hall and found another hall that turned to the left, and from a door in it they could hear screams. A girl's screams. "Natalie!" John shouted, running.

"Don't!" exclaimed a woman from behind the still standing Sherlock. "Don't." John turned backwards and found Mrs. Rucastle with a pistol in her hand, and it was aimed at Sherlock.

"Fight," said a man from behind John, "and she dies." John turned once more and found Mr. Rucastle pressing a knife against Natalie's throat, and she struggled against him. "She won't be the first," grinned Mr. Rucastle.

"My son," said a gleeful Mrs. Rucastle, "tie them up." From behind her, the boy emerged with a rope in his arms.

"Do you hear that sound?" cacked Mr. Rucastle. "I think the dogs are hungry."


	17. Defember 17th

Previously, in that dark room, there was one chained female and multiple body parts of other dead young girls. Now, there was that same imprisoned girl, but beside her sat Natalie, tied with a rope, and in front of them sat Sherlock and John, who were tied together. Beside Natalie was the horrific pile, which made what was an already unpleasant situation even worse.

Also, John had decided to share all his apologies to Natalie as if they were surely going to die. "I'm sorry," he said, "We should have never sent you here. Your parents made a mistake…" he began… "and then Sherlock took you to the Milvertons…" after five minutes, "and then you had to cut your hair…" He concluded with, "and now we're dead!"

"John."

"If we ever get out of this mess," he exclaimed, "you're being sent right back to Florida!"

"John."

"Right back to your family!"

"John," Sherlock annoyingly said, "I am thinking. Please do shut your mouth."  
John began to argue, and by then Natalie had lost interest. She, too, looked around the room in search of an escape, sometimes checking on the girl beside her. Natalie was looking for something sharp, something that would be able to cut her ropes, but she made sure not to look in the direction of the body parts. Their sight pained her, despite the fact that she had never met any of the murdered girls. They were all just like her, Natalie thought, it was just a job to them. Natalie realized that, if not for Sherlock and John, perhaps her hand or her foot would have joined the pile, and almost choked on the thought. Being distracted by John's arguments, Natalie had viewed the pile, even if her eyes gazed for only a second. Natalie shut her eyes immediately to avoid them, but realized that the key to their escape was in there. Underneath the body parts, there was a key.

Natalie had wished it was never there to avoid being forced to take it, but she knew what needed to be done. "The key is underneath the pile," Natalie interrupted the two.

"The what?" asked John.

Natalie moved her head towards the dead. Frowning, she repeated her earlier words. "The key – it's right there. It'll get her out."

John's mouth gaped open but Sherlock did not move. "Look, Natalie, if you don't want to-"

"Let her do it, John," Sherlock whispered. "There is no other way."

"But Sherlock," John looked angrily at the detective. "She doesn't want to-"

"Uncle," said Natalie, solemnly, "I have to."

Sherlock subtly nodded at the girl. Natalie stretched her leg and slowly moved it under the parts – the key was near, all she needed to do was pull it from under. Her heel stomped the key, forcing it to follow. Natalie pulled back, wincing as the body parts moved, and the key appeared as she lifted her foot. Natalie slid it towards the girl beside her, who could move much more freely than of them, despite the chains. "Can you pick it up?" asked Natalie, realizing she did not know the girl's name.

The girl looked into Natalie's eyes. "How?"

"With your mouth." Sherlock wasted no time.

The girl stared at the key for a few seconds, thinking over at what Sherlock had said. Slowly lowering her head, she placed the key between her lips and closed them shut. The key was pointing outwards – Natalie smiled as the girl lifted her head back up, placed the key into the chain of her right hand. The lock clicked, her hand was released, and the key dropped to the floor. The girl smiled and looked at Natalie, lifting the key with her right hand and unlocking the chains to her left. She was free. Rubbing her wrists, the girl smiled, "I've been here," she gasped, "for months." Rushing to Natalie, she struggled to untie her new friend but the ropes soon were loose, and Natalie also escaped.  
Thanking the girl, Natalie crawled towards John and Sherlock as silently as possible and began to untie them, but the creaking of a door stopped her. "Don't you dare," said Mrs. Rucastle, with a pistol aimed at Natalie. Natalie stared, momentarily lost in thought. She could either surrender and be imprisoned once more, or put her life on the line in an attempt to save her three friends. Slowly letting go of the rope, she lifted her arms in a position of surrender. Mrs. Rucastle stepped forward, but Natalie smiled. Quickly, she threw herself upon Mrs. Rucastle and grabbed for the gun. "You wretched child!" fought Mrs. Rucastle, struggling to keep the gun in her hand. Shots were fired above and below as the two wrestled. Natalie pushed the woman back into the hallway to keep the three safe from shots and followed the lady.

As the fight between the two moved into the hallway, both of them targeted the pistol – both needed it. Natalie, determined to win, grabbed the pistol and kneed Mrs. Rucastle. With an "oof!" Mrs. Rucastle fell to the floor. Natalie held the gun to her head, smiled, and said, "Don't you dare," she followed with, "don't you dare hurt my friends."

However, Natalie's back was uncovered. Her full attention was placed on Mrs. Rucastle and the pistol aimed at the woman's face, she forgot to think about her back. The girl's words, however, reminded her. "Natalie!" her new friend shouted, "Natalie, behind you!" Natalie quickly attempted to turn her head, but was stopped by a sudden pain in the left side of her back. Slowly losing focus, Natalie moved her hand to the pain. She felt blood, a handle, and then a hand, and tears filled her eyes. Mr. Rucastle breathed onto her neck, and pulled back his knife. Natalie dropped the pistol and slowly stumbled. The muffled sounds of her friend's shouts filled her ears, but there was nothing else. Mr. Rucastle grabbed Natalie's hair and pulled back, forcing Natalie up, against his leg. Lowering his knife, he taunted her with it dangling in front of her eyes.

"There it is," he laughed, "there's your death." And the knife entered Natalie's heart. Gasping blood, Natalie's tears filled her eyes. She turned her head to say goodbye to her friends, but there was nothing more. The last face she could see was the girl's, and, as her head dropped, Natalie remembered that she did not even know her name.

"No!" John shouted, through tears. "Natalie!" He wept. "It's our fault! We brought here here, and, now," he struggled through his cries, "now she's gone! Natalie, she's – she's gone!"

The girl stared at the weeping doctor. "She saved me," she whispered, covering her eyes with her palms. "She saved me," the girl repeated, "I never even knew her, and she died to save me." The girl cried, knowing that she owed Natalie so much.

Sherlock, however, was silent. Nothing changed in his expression. He had met her seventeen days ago, and over seventeen days, he saw her grow so much, and then her life ended. All because of him. Sherlock knew that, but still, there were no tears from him.

"I told her not to go in there," laughed Mrs. Rucastle, holding up her weapon. Natalie's body lay underneath. "I told her to leave the door alone."

"But she had to, didn't she?" laughed Mr. Rucastle. "She had to go in there."

"You are a monster," Sherlock suddenly spoke.

"I'm sorry – what?" smiled Mr. Rucastle. "Say it louder."

"You are a monster," Sherlock's head turned, "and you're going to pay for what you did."


End file.
